Idle Hope
by BlueSmartiesRule
Summary: "His passionate declarations of love are a husky whisper in your ear." - One person Hermione cannot lose. . .


**hey :) this is a slightly different Dramione, set in the muggle world.**

**And . . no, I don't own Happy Potter or any JK's characters either :(**

You fling yourself out of the taxi, barely pausing to throw muggle money at the driver, and sprint through the doors – your thoughts muddled in panic. Frantically, you look at the train timetables, silently begging the impossible. You can't concentrate; the words are all jumbling together on the screen – you mutter to yourself incoherently. Finally, you spot his train, you're suddenly horror struck – the colour seeping from your face – their train leaves in a matter of minutes. Blindly you launch yourself forward; in what you hope is the right direction, running at full pelt – your legs moving in a steady rhythm. You pass WHsmiths, a mini Marks&Spencer, cash machines, McDonalds and Costa Coffee – you catch the faint whiff of cappuccino. They're a blur as you race past them, swerving to avoid bins and benches, potted plants and people . . . People oblivious to your inner turmoil, the importance of your mission. Your pounding heart beat fills your ears as do your uneven pants; your gasps for precious oxygen. You carry on.

Without permission, your mind wanders as your body strains. The scene conquers you, submitting to your unconscious crave for his presence. You see the busy park, the many picnics and families; the sun cream odour omnipresent. You hear the constant buzz of easy chatter - women gossiping, soaking up the blazing sun; men in deep sport related discussions. The squeals of over-excited children who are racing around reach your ears; the great grassy expanse, its mysterious guarding oak trees on the boundary create millions of possibilities for imaginary games. The muggle and the wizarding world has its similarities; you're currently vacating in the former because of personal issues. You see yourself – bored, uninterested in the gathering, roaming aimlessly amidst the hubbub, secluded in your own thoughts. Then suddenly, your eye catches his eye – a silver fathomless orb: a telepathic greeting shared is between you. Their obvious surprise, your unexpected shyness; their arrogant wink, your faint uninvited blush: your tentative smiles. . .

"Granger." He inclined his head slightly, mouth now turned to a lazy smirk, but you can feel the raging curiosity in the strength of his gaze. He crosses his legs, swipes a blade of grass.

"Malfoy," You are taken aback by his reappearance, and the physical transformation he has undergone since their school days – that now seems to have a big influence on you, sending you into a daze. You mentally pull yourself together, biting your lower lip stubbornly. "Fancy seeing you here, I thought hell might have frozen over before you chose to relax so leisurely in a muggle park." You raise your eyebrows slightly to complete the effect.

"Times have changed. And so have people," he muttered, giving her a not so subtle once over.

Heat rises to your cheeks once again, and the corners of your mouth rise up unintentionally.

You're jerked back to the present; you notice the sheen of tears in your eyes, and take a steadying deep breath. Abrupt pressure on your arm causes you to stop, glance up alarmed. A stern man in a fluorescent uniform, scowling and frowning, has stopped you and is instructing you to travel at a slower pace. You jig impatiently, nod noncommittally, commanding your face into a polite expression, subduing the panic that's rising within you – threatening to over spill. With all your might, you force a controlled walk, until you turn the corner. Then, you run. You are nearing the area where his platform is, closer and closer in every agonising lost second. Sweat beads on your forehead. Down below you, raging trains thunder by, a grey, murky blur; a physical interpretation of anger. Bystanders cower in their wake. You hit a human barrier, bodies surge toward you, mercilessly blocking your path. The train that had administered them, already in motion, seemed to watch your battle, sneering. Harried parents and their collection of children; grim black suited business men, brief cases displayed as weapons; a bus full of tired, weary pensioners; march up the steps toward you. Stubbornly you barge through, desperation clouding common sense, complaints, and shouts of pain fill the air – your only thought is of finding him. Your perseverance is like a double edged sword, your love for him an irrevocable shield. Time is sliding by, it is impatient.

As you continue to fight your way through the swarms, trying not to feel guilty about the disruption you're causing, your mind drags you into an irresistible memory. The flurry and commotion of the train station is silenced by the onslaught of past bliss. . .

The deep red, bright orange, pretty lilac and girly pink of the sunset is strikingly beautiful, the sky luminous – like a possible entrance to heaven. The breeze isn't chilly; it only strokes the tendrils of your hair. The warmth of your bodies slightly leaning against one another protects you. His passionate declarations of love are a husky whisper in your ear, his hot breath moist and ticklish. Euphoria has sculpted your face, the artist creating pure elation. Your fingers are interlocked, molten lavas, golds in the strange, magical light. Daisy chains are strewn over both your legs, a weaving spiralling stream amongst the poppies, buttercups, dandelions and cornflowers of the meadow.

You're submerged in anguish, so extreme it's almost a physical pain, your surroundings swirl. You have to find him. You _need _to find him. Determination engulfs the sorrow and you focus once again. You are halfway down the busy steps, halfway to the main platform; the urgent panic-stricken expression on your face prevents people from picking a fight, arguing with you head on. You ignore the pushes and shoves you are getting, the whinges of pain, the mutters and murmurs. The sudden roar of a train announcing its arrival fills your ears; glancing up you see it's _his_ train! Down and down you go, two steps at a time, your breath coming out at jagged intervals, your heart pounding. Your thoughts are solely on him: you need to stop him, stop him getting on the train, stop him from disappearing – fading out of your life. Six months ago, you never, even in your wildest dreams, imagined that you could have formed a relationship so deep, so intense as this one. The last step approaches rapidly, too rapidly, too quickly, the floor is rising to greet you. Your body crashes to the cold dusty paving.

You're soaked, the water seeping through to your skin, the piercing chill sending uncontrollable tremors down your spine. The broken, pathetic excuse for an umbrella hangs limply in your hand – no match for the torrential rain. A deafening cannon blast of thunder shakes the earth, so loud it's unrealistic – the omnipotent grey clouds are furious. Your hair is plastered to your skull, the sheeting rain running down your face. The water on the path begins to proliferate, your shoes swimming in its murky depths. You look at him in the door way, the bright hallway's warmth, the energy of the patterned wallpaper; unable to reach you. His face is expressionless, emotionless, empty. His transcending eyes, mesmeric in colour are indecipherable. He stands stiffly, the tension contorting his body into an awkward unnatural position. He utters one detached, heart wrenching syllable. "Bye". The door shuts in your face. A fork of lightning streaks across the sky.

Groggily, you pick yourself up off the floor, nod at the concerned woman, stifling her worries – spotting the luggage bag that had tripped you up. You see the train at the far end of the platform, _his platform,_ and charge toward it. You're hoping frantically you can reach it, panic clawing at you from the insides. Sheer will power is driving your legs forward, making you sprint; you're struggling to breathe properly, your lungs not satisfied with the small irregular mouthfuls of air. Sweat trickles down your red cheeks. You dodge more people, suitcases and bins. You're painfully aware of the seconds ticking by – you know that this train does not pause for long. You're halfway there, only thirty metres remaining – but your body is tiring. You're running flat out, the best you ever have; but it seems as if you are travelling in slow motion. Your head is spinning immutably, the consequences of strenuous exercise kicking in. You urge yourself forward, you're getting closer and closer, you're nearing the front of the train, you see people sitting inside through the windows. And you're there. But the automatic doors are closing. Gasping, choking, you bang on them feebly. The huge train slithers past you, its gleaming coat mocking you. You have failed. You step back unsteadily, admitting defeat. You sink to the floor, exhaustion overwhelming you, tears pooling in your eyes and cascading swiftly. Your aspirations, dreams deteriorate. Despair consumes you, violently attacking.

You sit, your vision blurred, your mind devoid of sense. Realisation finally hits you – hard. A tremor rocks through you. He's gone. You sigh heavily and your breathing hitches. Looking around, you see a figure sat also, head in hands, dejected, a short distance from you. You laugh without humour at the similarity, on the edge of hysteria – they look exactly how you feel. They look up, surprised at the sound – your eyes meet.

Time stands still.

Your heart accelerates, you jump up, electrified by sudden hope.

**hope you liked it :) **


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